What They Fear II: Dealings with the Fear
by Salysha
Summary: A spoof on the Fellowship trying to deal with their unique fears. Frodo is the normal one with only arachnophobia; it is Aragorn's fear that puts the lid on it. Involves the whole Fellowship except Gandalf.
1. Getting to BS

**Disclaimer**: The Lord of the Rings belongs to The Trustees of The J.R.R. Tolkien Settlement. This is nonprofit fan fiction. No copyright infringement intended.

**Lengthy introduction**: This is a sequel to my LotR spoof "What They Fear." You don't need to read it to understand this one. In the prequel, the Fellowship was camping in the Woods of Lothlórien. Little by little, their fears and phobias were revealed: Frodo has arachnophobia, Gimli cannot share his belongings with an elf, and Legolas is afraid of his manic fan girls. Aragorn has lost his nerve because of sock puppets, and Boromir because of Aragorn. The Lady Galadriel spoke to Boromir in Lothlórien about her vision that before Boromir's death, Aragorn will kiss him. Now, Boromir tries his best to avoid Aragorn, and Aragorn his best to get close to Boromir, since he has been warned about Boromir's lust for the One Ring.

**Notes**: In "What They Fear," the characters were out of character. This has not changed. During that fic, they were still recognizable as characters created by Tolkien, and rational thinking had not abandoned me. This has changed. I am still using the characters—and possibly some events from LotR—but this is no longer any part of the real Lord of the Rings. What we have, instead, is a meeting of Balefire Society, a sort of "Problems Anomalous" (this is how I honor the legacy of Alcoholics Anonymous), and the Fellowship dealing with the phobias revealed in What They Fear.

* * *

**What They Fear II: Dealings with the Fear**

by Salysha

* * *

**Part 1 of 2: Getting to B.S.**

After that one disastrous day back in the Woods of Lothlórien, the Fellowship held an emergency meeting. They could almost unanimously agree that they needed professional help to deal with their fears before their fears would put the quest in irreparable jeopardy. However, once they began discussing the actual type of treatment, the world fell apart.

Boromir, who had claimed to fair well all along, was adamant that they would not seek help from Men since rumors could be detrimental to his reputation. Legolas refused the aid of Elves for the very same reason, and gave a firm _no, thank you_: he would not see an intellectually-challenged dwarf, either. Gimli refused to hear another word of seeing a fellow Dwarf or especially about having "a cursed Elf poke around his head." Four pairs of eyes turned to the hobbits, but the tentative inquiries were met such murderous glares that the idea of seeing Hobbit consultation was never spoken aloud. Things seemed to have come to a dead end, until Aragorn opened his mouth and told about a treating he had heard of on his journeys.

"There is an option: the Balefire Society. It is a kind of 'Problems Anomalous:' a meeting where men with problems meet and share their difficulties. The audience merely pays attention and possibly gives advice. It is the talking on its own that is supposed to be therapeutic. The problems can concern anything; the things you hear there..." Aragorn trailed off.

"You have been to these meetings, Aragorn?" Boromir asked incredulously.

"I was merely an observer," Aragorn replied all too hastily. The others gave him the look, but none dared to pressure the ranger; he had been slightly on the edge since "the incident," and the idea of Aragorn crawling out of his skin was not worth the temptation.

"I think this meeting is the best offer we can get, and I suggest we take it. There is no fear of rumors spreading: the B.S. is known for its discretion or, to be more precise, it is not known because of it."

"Why does this Balefire Society have such a curious name?" Boromir asked, still doubtful.

"It is just a remnant from their old witch-hunt days, when they were known for their narrow-mindedness and intolerance. Their image has changed afterward, but they have kept the name."

"I see."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. It was surprisingly Gimli, who decided for all:

"I say we go and try this B.S. out. Any objections?"

The silence continued.

"Good. It is settled, then."

* * *

The Fellowship left the Lórien and followed Strider along dangerous paths and uncharted territories of Middle-earth, their previous quest concerning the One Ring blissfully forgotten. After many moons, they finally arrived at the secret meeting place of the Balefire Society.

One would think that they could have solved their problems during the months of travel, but that was not the case: the problems had grown worse. Aragorn grew more irked by the day because Boromir avoided him, and Boromir grew more agitated because the ranger tried to get close to him. Legolas was jumpy and feared for another fan girl ambush, since it is a known fact that these dangerous creatures dwelled where you least of all expected them. Gimli was avoiding Legolas, and the hobbits were just avoiding everyone and everything in general. Altogether, it was amazing that they were able to travel as a Company. As they got closer to the meeting place, tempers began to rise.

"I still think this is not a good idea." That was the _there-is-nothing-wrong-with-me_ Boromir speaking.

"What do you mean by 'still?' Why couldn't you say something a few months ago?" snapped Aragorn.

"I thought you realized."

There was silence.

"Besides, this is not necessary. There is nothing wrong with me."

_Here we go again,_ Aragorn sighed. _Why can't he just say what is troubling him instead of playing a cat-and-mouse game? _Aloud he said:

"I dare disagree."

"Nonsense."

"Is it, now... Boromir?" Aragorn said softly and leaned toward Boromir, who suddenly decided that his place was not beside Aragorn, but rather by anyone else's side. He surrounded himself with all the hobbits he could find and grabbed, by accident, one extra, who happened to be an unlucky passer-by.

"I rest my case," Aragorn stated, more amused than agitated.

* * *

One night, they finally arrived at their destination.

The meeting was held in a secret hideout. The hall was crowded, as the regular visitors of B.S. knew to expect blood in the night's meeting, figuratively speaking. After the usual welcoming ceremonies, the female chair of the meeting welcomed the Company and introduced them as "travel-worn troubled warriors who have come to unburden their hearts." The audience mumbled approvingly and set out to see what kind of village idiots their guests were. Legolas was the first to rise to the stand.

"Hullo, my name is Legolas, and I have a problem."

"Hi, Legalos," greeted the crown obediently.

"It's Legolas."

"Le'coolass."

"Legolas."

"Legholas."

"... Never you mind. Call me Leggy."

"That you are," the wise guy in the crowd confirmed. Legolas chose to ignore him and carried on telling about his problem:

"Well, my good people, I have this problem. It took me some time to admit it, but I cope with it the best I can. See, I am an Elven prince from a distant realm, pleasant in looks, and blessed with a naturally gorgeous hair color. I also happen to have a good heart, a courageous personality, and I am one of the best fighters among my kind. I am unattached. My problem is that all the girls find me utterly desirable. They follow me everywhere and keep propositioning to me."

"Only girls want you, elf boy?" asked a man with a long hair and a single earring from the back.

"Well, women too. Women are the worst: they are resilient. You would not believe what suggestions they make. They have actually offered to—"

At this point, Legolas thought it best to stop and hear the advice waiting for him. The long-haired man left the hall with some of his mates muttering something that sounded like "blind" and "what a waste." The remaining audience stared at Legolas fixedly; women with dreamy looks on their faces, and most men with barely concealed hatred. Taking in their reactions, Legolas decided that he would not be getting advice, vacated the stand, and joined his companions. The chair broke the silence and asked for applause to the brave Elf who had ventured before them and shared his troubles. The audience applauded obediently, though without much enthusiasm.

* * *

The next to step up to the stand was Aragorn. He had been plucking up his courage, and now decided to give it a try before his resolve would fail. This was not going to be an easy task. He rose slowly to the stand.

"Hello, I am Aragorn son of Arathorn. I— I have a p-problem," he stammered awkwardly. Seeing his uncertainty, most of the audience softened and responded encouragingly:

"Hi, Aragon."

"It is actually Aragorn."

The audience sighed. _Why couldn't these strangers have normal names?_ "Argon."

"Never mind. Most men do not call me Aragorn, anyway. They call me—"

"Longshanks?" yelled the same wise guy.

Aragorn stared at him disbelievingly. "How could you know that?"

"Your name is Longshanks?" This was even better than the man had expected; the strangers were round the bend.

"Never mind. Call me Strider."

"Hi, Striker," greeted the obviously hearing-impaired audience. Grinding his teeth, Aragorn decided to let it go. He had to focus on resolving his plight.

"I have a phobia. I am afraid— I fear— I—" Aragorn tried to gather his wits, but could not bring himself to utter the word "sock puppets." Then his gaze fell on someone straightening his socks, and his breath was caught in his throat. The earlier commentator in the audience grew tired.

"Whatcha matter, Longshanks? Left your wits with the other socks?"

That did it. Aragorn couldn't take it anymore. He retreated to his seat and sought emotional support from the nearest person. Poor Boromir found himself being hugged tightly by the trembling ranger. Shuddering, Boromir tried to disentangle himself, but the ranger had him in a stranglehold, and Boromir had to choose between being constricted and staying in the embrace. Reluctantly, he gave up trying to escape and, instead, concentrated on doing what any self-respecting warrior would do: praying. Legolas, who sat on the other side of Aragorn, smiled sympathetically and sighed. He wasn't sure which one he should pity more. He actually felt slightly guilty for getting back at Estel for his joke: the man was a mess, now that old traumas had gotten to him.

"I'll avenge you, my friend," Legolas whispered, but he decided to wait until the meeting was over to deal with the pest. He glanced angrily at the wise guy, who remained nonchalant. _What's the elf boy gonna do? Eat me alive?_ He knew nothing about Elves, but this individual seemed to be a rather harmless one: all talk and no action.

The chair felt it best to intervene before things got ugly and she urged the audience to applaud to Aragorn's brave try. After uncertain applause, she asked for the next speaker to step up.

* * *

**Published** August 31, 2002.


	2. BS or Meeting and Aftermath

**Part 2 of 2: B.S. or Meeting and Aftermath**

This was a far cry from what Frodo had expected. _Therapeutic, my feet_, he thought bitterly. Quick glances at his fellow hobbits told him that he was not the only one of that opinion. Since Legolas' problem was really not a problem and Aragorn seemed to have fallen apart, Frodo took it upon himself to save the honor of the Fellowship. He got up to the stand and found out that it was not quite made to match the hobbits' height standards. He chose to speak beside the stand.

"Hi, everybody. I am Frodo son of Drogo and I have a problem."

"Hello, Frog son of Dragon," the intellectually-challenged audience greeted. _That explains the feet,_ the anonymous wise guy decided.

"My name is Frodo Baggins, but usually people just call me—"

"Let me guess!" the wise guy from the audience screamed. "Bigfoot?"

That did it. Legolas no longer hold back his murderous tendencies. He rose from his seat, and before anyone had even realized what had happened, he had caught the wise guy from his collar and removed him from the hall. Cries of terror could be heard from the outside, and then everything went quiet. A few moments later, Legolas returned, wiping something red from his hands with a cloth that resembled the shirt the wise guy had been wearing. "Rest in pieces," mumbled someone from the audience. Legolas turned his gaze at that daredevil, who obviously had a death wish. The little daredevil quickly became a very quiet little devil. Legolas spoke aloud:

"Is there anyone else here who would like to make comments on my friends?"

There was no answer.

"Very well. Please carry on, _Frodo_."

* * *

Legolas got back to Aragorn, who had returned to his senses when hearing someone mock the Ring-bearer. Now the ranger sat in his chair and felt the cold steel of the Andúril with his fingertips, a thoughtful expression on his face. Boromir had disappeared, and Legolas' keen ears detected noises of someone being sick outside the house. While Frodo kept on babbling about nearly every incident he had ever had with spiders, the rest of the Company engaged in a quiet conversation. Sam pulled Legolas from his sleeve.

"Legolas, sir, dare I ask, did you—" Sam sought for the right words, "—put that miserable excuse of a life form out of his misery?"

Legolas turned to him in surprise. "Nay, Sam. I took him to the tallest tree I could find. I gave him something to think about."

"I bet you did, Master Elf," said Gimli suddenly and laughed heartily. "I am glad we are on the same side."

"I have no doubt of that," replied Legolas pleasantly. Aragorn chuckled at his ambiguous statement.

"How did your hands, then—"Merry started.

"That is just red paint. Someone had painted red markings on the bloody tree."

Aragorn had been examining his sword silently, but now he finally spoke. "Thank you, Legolas."

"You are welcome, Estel."

"Do you think he'll ever get down?" Pippin asked. As if to answer Pippin's question, both the ranger and the elf's keen ears picked up a thump from the outside. The companions exchanged a look and Legolas answered:

"Undoubtedly."

The Company now turned their attention to Frodo, who had already been through his experiences with the spiders and was now telling the audience which particular characteristics he hated in the vile beasts.

"What I hate the most is the cunning way they attack you. You have no idea that they are approaching, for they are masters of swift movement. One minute they are on the other side of the room, and the next, they are all over you. When they get to you, they bind their long feet around you. It is the legs I hate the most; the way they fold around you and strangle you. Even their foul torso fails to cause such terrible revulsion in me. I know they in a way have a slim and—believe it or not—handsome figure, but even that cannot make up the lack of brains and the way they keep pestering me." Frodo halted to take a breath and noticed with a start that "Leggy" was standing next to him.

"Frodo, I think you should stop. I believe you have made your point," Legolas whispered.

"If you really think so. I think this is going well, though. Just look at the way these people pay attention to me. They barely even blink."

Legolas let his gaze wander in the audience. Almost everyone seemed to be on his or her toes. He also knew, as well as the audience, that it wasn't Frodo's less entertaining babbling that kept them so alert: it was the incessant babbler's Elven friend, who had a quick temper. "You have a very attentive audience, but I still think you had best hand over the turn to the next speaker." In a louder voice, Legolas addressed the public, "May we have support for my friend here?"

The hall burst out in furious ovation and occasional exclamations, "Well done, Frog son of Dragon!" Frodo was genuinely surprised at his sudden popularity, but he handled it with the dignity of a gentlehobbit. He bowed slightly and let Legolas guide him back to his seat. At this point, Boromir rejoined the company with a wary peer at Aragorn. Boromir looked slightly under the weather, but Aragorn was not about to let that hinder him. He grabbed Boromir from the shoulder, ignoring the sudden gasp, and threw him to the wolves.

"Start talking, Boromir," he hissed. The chair didn't have the guts to intervene, but she chose to hide in the darkest corner instead. It seemed that this company was unpleasantly unpredictable and, after what she had seen the Elf do, she was not about to take any chances with an emotionally-unbalanced man with a sword.

* * *

Boromir found himself between the rock and the hard place: he could not get away from the situation, but he was certainly not going to explain the cause for his anxiety. He came up with the first excuse he could think of and started talking:

"Hello, my name is Boromir."

"Hello, Boromir," replied the audience. Not believing his ears, Boromir wondered about the sudden improvement in the audience's hearing, but discovered the reason for it soon enough: next to him, Aragorn was running his fingertips over Andúril, time after time. Legolas had also got up and taken a position close to the stand as he eyed the bow in his hand thoughtfully. Both these actions were enough to rouse the interest, as well as instinct of self-protection, of the audience.

Boromir carried on telling about his newly-invented fear. "I have a problem. See, there is this One Ring—"

"Who's the poor girl?" the daredevil yelled. He was quickly silenced by Aragorn, who made an unseemly gesture and intensified his message by swinging the _sword reforged_ in the air.

"As I was saying, this there is this One Ring that keeps tempting me. I fear the power it has over me, and yet I dare not take it since that kind of action would never be approved among my people."

"We're talking about a female, aren't we?" the daredevil with a death wish remarked. His wish was fulfilled when the snarling Aragorn and Legolas grabbed him by his shoulders and yanked him outside. All waited for their return in deafening silence. After a while, they came back without the little pest and returned to their positions. This was the last interruption during that evening, and Boromir made up some story about feeling awful temptation for the mighty Ring and how he struggled with its lure day after day.

His story didn't make any sense to the audience, but the Fellowship listened with interest and Aragorn finally felt at ease. _To think that it was the Ring all along! I was sure it had something to do with me_, he mused. _The poor Gondorian had just tried to keep his distance so that he wouldn't pull others with him, should he fall. _When Boromir was finished with his nonsensical story, Aragorn slapped him manfully on the shoulder and made a favorable observation about Boromir's fairness and courage. Boromir had absolutely no inkling what Aragorn was talking about, but he had no intention of finding out about it, either.

At this point, the chair stepped out of the shadows and announced that the interesting evening would have to end now and welcomed the audience to the next meeting. The new place and time would be announced privately to regular members. The next meeting would involve looking into the rules of the society, such as the problems accepted into discussion and the right to participate. The audience sighed and left the premises at the speed of a raging hurricane. The Company stayed behind to listen to Gimli and the three hobbits' indignant remarks that they had been ignored. The chair came to bid Aragorn goodbye or, as she hoped, a farewell for good for him and his.

"Thank you for joining our meeting. I trust you have solved your problems now and have no need to come back..." …_ever_.

"This has been a most interesting evening. I wonder about something, though: I was under the impression that the meeting would last at least twice as much."

"Well, see, this was such an extraordinary meeting that a bit shorter length was in order," …_to save at least few members from resigning_.

"We thank you. I am sure all of us feel much better now."

_At least someone does_. Then the chair's barely contained anger burst, and she couldn't refrain from asking a question with a definite sting in it: "Mr. Arag'horn, before you leave, may I ask what your problem was? You never quite had a chance to tell." _Let's see how that outside calm of yours holds now__._

Legolas intervened and grabbed Aragorn's sword that had dangerously began to rise and chased the ranger out of the front door. He came back and urged the others to leave as well, with a promise to quickly follow after. Once the hall was empty and empty of witnesses, he fixated on the chair's. Seeing the Elf's shining eyes, she stepped back and gulped. _This meeting is Men-only from on_, she decided. Legolas waited. scrutinizing the woman with his eyes. When he decided the woman had suffered enough he spoke in a low and deceptively sweet tone, "I heard what you just said to my friend and saw how it affected him. I know you acted on purpose."

"You have misunderstood me. I would never—" The woman was hissed to silence. She took a step back.

"I believe it is customary to make amends after one has insulted another. Do you agree?"

A gulp and a nod comfirmed that they were of the same mind.

"Good. Do you have insect powder?"

"Wh— what?" As Legolas' eyes narrowed, the woman nodded in agreement.

"Good. Put the powder, combs, and a toothbrush into a bag and bring it to me. Do not argue with me; I am positive that you have combs and a simple toothbrush in this place."

The dazed chair swayed on her feet before finding a bag and filling it up as requested. The bag was brought to Legolas, who thanked with a slight bow and left the building. The chair sat down and thanked the high ones for the pointy-eared devil sparing her life.

* * *

When Legolas came outside, the Company looked up expectantly and Aragorn asked on everybody's behalf:

"Well?"

Legolas threw the bag at Gimli and answered, "She was genuinely sorry for the thoughtless comments. She gave a little something as an apology to Gimli and Sam, who had not the chance to speak tonight."

The aforementioned dwarf and hobbit's spirits rose considerably when they looked into the bag. Gimli was so overjoyed that he thanked the Elf with genuine warmth. Legolas just smiled in his elf-like manner and mouthed to Aragorn's questioning glance, "Unharmed." The Fellowship spoke quickly and decided unanimously to resume their original quest. Pippin and Merry calmed down after Strider noted that they would probably have a few easy weeks coming. They started to set off on their way but before they left, Merry felt daring enough to ask:

"Strider, Legolas, what did you do with that man who kept interrupting?"

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged a glance, and Legolas answered, "He needed cool air, so we threw him right over that cliff there." The hobbits looked shocked, and Legolas added hastily, "There is a lake down there."

"I didn't know that."

Luckily, only Legolas heard Aragorn's quiet growl.

* * *

The Fellowship set course to Lothlórien. They did not have to take too many strides before they noticed a young man lying under a tree. The young man had obviously fallen down a good fifty feet; there was nothing they good do for him. Legolas had the grace to look ashamed, but Frodo showed that the man did not have his sympathy:

"Serves him right. Maybe we should check his pockets, in case he has any valuables."

"Mr. Frodo! That would be grave robbery!" exclaimed Sam, shocked at the thought.

"He doesn't," replied Boromir absently. The whole Fellowship turned to stare at him. Boromir corrected hastily, "He does not seem like a man carrying valuables." Needless to say, the others were a bit distrustful at the truthfulness of the statement since the Gondorian had been outdoors for quite a while, all alone. Unwilling to push the matter any further the Fellowship continued on its way, Aragorn in the lead and Boromir being the hindmost for some strange reason known only to Boromir himself.

**THE END**

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Review, please. It won't take much of your time, but it makes my day.


	3. The Deleted Scene

**Explanation**: When I was writing this, I had trouble dividing the story into chapters, and so I wrote an extra piece. In the end, it didn't really seem to fit in, so I left it out and archived it to the "X-Files."

* * *

**"Part 3" or The Deleted Scene**

_[Continues from where the Fellowship is on their way to the meeting of Balefire Society and Boromir has claimed to be well and labeled Aragorn's inquiries as nonsense.]_

"Is it, now… Boromir?" asked Aragorn softly and leaned toward Boromir, who suddenly decided his place was not by Aragorn's side, but rather by anyone else's side. He surrounded himself with all the hobbits he could find and grabbed by accident one extra that happened to be an unlucky passer-by.

"I rest my case," stated Aragorn, more amused than agitated.

* * *

All those past months, the Company had traveled with only one comb to share. All those months had passed without anyone touching that comb, since Gimli the dwarf had vowed not to touch a comb touched by an Elf. All the uncombed months had certainly left their marks on his beard and hair, which both had turned into a fantastic mess. Legolas **_the_** Elf would have been even more amused at this, had he not been preoccupied with his own woes. Gimli's beard became a legend and a constant source of entertainment, especially to "the cursed elf."

For instance, heard one morning at the camping site:

"Has anyone seen the frying pan?" Merry looked around accusingly, but no one confessed to the disappearance. He bored his eyes to Gimli's. "I left it there just a couple of minutes ago, right there where you are sitting."

Gimli denied any involvement with the mystery. He also took the opportunity to remind about his superior dwarven senses, which told him he had neither seen a frying pan nor was seated upon one.

The sight of Gimli's beard gave Merry and idea, he lifted the beard out of his way before the dwarf had time to object. "Here it is!" he cried happily at the sight of an old friend. The beard in his hands was now suspiciously vivid. He stuck his hands in, ignoring Gimli's angry protests, and pulled out a field mouse. "Oh, look, you have a mouse in your beard. Haven't you noticed anything?"

All except Gimli, the keen-sensing dwarf, joined him in his laughter. Frowning at the vividness of the beard, Merry stuck his hand inside once more and pulled out a litter of mousekins. That evoked a new bursts of mirth.

"Master Dwarf! I had no idea you were so fond of animals!" Legolas cried. "Maybe we should have accommodated the bear cub we saw to your beard. I am certain the mice would not have minded."

Amused sniggering was heard all over the camp, and that was something Gimli couldn't bear. His eyes shot daggers at the blasted elf. _Dwarves do not lose to chattering elves where wordplay is concerned_, he swore angrily.

"What fanatic ideas you fantasize, Master Elf. I do not fancy fandango such as this fantastic fantasy of yours."

The blasted elf grew vary and eyed his surroundings with a new interest. He seemed to almost prick up his pointed ears. Not willing to stop, Gimli added more heat:

"You seem to be in a fantigue, Master Elf. Surely it is merely the fantasist in your soul that gives the fantod." Legolas rose quickly muttering something about making an extra survey of the surroundings. He was just leaving the camp site as Sam cried out frantically:

"Where is Mr. Frodo?"

"Have you checked the beard?" answered a faint Elven voice from the forest. Sam chose to opt for a more thorough sweep in the surroundings. He threw a quick glance at Gimli's beardm, though, just to be safe. Suddenly, a terrified shriek echoed in the forest, followed by sword-slashing noises.

"It's Mr. Frodo!"

"And arachnids," added Aragorn absently.

**THE END of The Chapter That Was Never Meant to Be**

* * *

**Notes**: Thanks to all the readers over the years! The parody tag on this fic stands firm, and I thank you for your good humor. It is still painfully obvious that the fic hasn't been properly proofread, so… if anyone is up to the job, let me know. Thanks to you all.

**Published** September 3, 2002. Revised March 23, 2003. Revised 2010.


End file.
